


The Day The Weasel Crashed The Party (And Got More Than He Bargained For)

by DragonGirl87



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Building bridges, Comedy, Date Night, Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, Footsie, Friendship, Inspired by Fanart, Love, M/M, Ronald Weasley Is A Dork, Ronald Weasley Is A Pain But Utterly Adorable, Sassy Draco Malfoy, Surprise Ending, romantic dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-04
Packaged: 2020-02-18 15:09:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18702070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonGirl87/pseuds/DragonGirl87
Summary: It's a perfect evening, the restaurant is exquisite, the champagne is cool and bubbly and Harry is in the company of the only man he wants to spend tonight with...until his best friend, Ronald Weasley, makes a surprise appearance. Things can only go pear-shaped from here on, or can they?





	The Day The Weasel Crashed The Party (And Got More Than He Bargained For)

**Author's Note:**

> I came across this wonderful Drarry video on Instagram, made by the absolutely amazingly talented ["xpaquimx"](https://www.instagram.com/p/Bw7ZTIPCH9-/?igshid=1a3cxdnqrf0th&fbclid=IwAR0Z4hQuUHK8lwjw0osAmH8IX8M-Bo-oA2VS2T5EuQ89Knc1HD4gc_IvVvQ) and after sharing it with a group of like-minded people, inspiration struck. As usual, after that happened, I couldn't resist the temptation to write a little bit of nonsense - hope you enjoy, I certainly had fun writing it. I fully acknowledge that the idea to this little tale belongs to xpaquimx, who created the video, and not me. I just borrowed it to have a little fun with it.

* * *

Harry sat forward and leant closer. He rested his hands on the table and casually toyed with the folded napkin — it was the shape of a swan, undoubtedly Draco’s idea. He vaguely remembered Draco telling him that swans generally mated for life an that it took quite some doing to rock the happy couple’s nest before they’d consider getting a divorce — yes, apparently that was a thing amongst swans. Draco’s seemingly vast knowledge of utterly useless trivia, mostly related to the Wizarding World but funnily enough also about Muggles and their world, had been the reason of many hours of endless laughter — the kind that made your cheeks and belly hurt, the kind that made it difficult to breathe, keep a straight face or act like a responsible adult.

Draco flashed him a killer smile and Harry watched, with mild amusement and a whole lot of deep appreciation, as he slowly wrapped his long pale fingers around the stem of his champagne flute and lifted it off the table. He raised it in a silent toast, then brought it to his lips and took a small languid sip. It displayed a definite disinclination for physical exertion or any kind of effort yet his eyes told an entirely different story.

Those silver-grey orbs sparkled with mirth and a devious little promise that made Harry shift uncomfortably in his upholstered chair as a large amount of blood suddenly decided to surge southward and boldly pool low in the pit of his groin, insistently drawing his attention to it. It made it rather difficult to focus on anything else but Draco and what was happening between his legs. Then again, nothing else mattered. How could anything be more important than sharing an exquisite meal and fantastic champagne with the one person he loved more than anything?

Draco smirked, winked cheekily and Harry blinked and smiled. He was feeling particularly happy — no, that word did not describe his current emotions accurately. He was _ecstatic_ — yes, that word fitted much better. Tonight’s dinner wasn’t just an average date — over the last three years he and Draco had gone on a hundred or more dates, some romantic, some crazy, some unforgettable and some (unfortunately) quite embarrassing though that hadn’t made them any less fun, perhaps not at the time but certainly at a later date. Then again, all that history didn’t make tonight any less special because there could never be a repeat of it. One chance was all they had to make an extraordinary memory, one they’d recall many, many years from now.

Harry brazenly moved his foot and lifting it off the ground, he ran the tip of his black leather shoes slowly up the calf of Draco’s leg. In reaction to that, Draco’s eyes widened and his smirk became positively devilish — Harry’s cock hardened further and he swallowed hard. It was him who was supposed to do the teasing, him who was supposed to be in control, yet somehow, he wasn’t.

This was Draco show and he was just a guest, a very willing participant in the game that was dating Slytherin’s former Ice Prince of Darkness — a man who’d, after in his youth ridiculously and blindly following his father’s footsteps had atoned and become a better person altogether. Mind, he hadn’t lost an ounce of his sass and his bark was far worse than his bite — then again, Harry didn’t want him any other way. He wanted sly and smart and sassy. He wanted mouthy and at times even downright bitchy. He wanted cool nonchalance and fiery passion. He wanted zesty arguments and ardent lovemaking. He wanted all that and more and preferably for the rest of both their natural lives.

Several minutes later, when Harry lowered his leg and reached for his own drink — he suddenly felt inexplicably parched — Draco returned the favour and when his own leg crept up Harry’s calf and travelled nearly all the way to his knee, Harry shifted and let out a soft sigh.

“To us, Potter,” Draco said, sweetly.

He spoke with a complete air of coolness and as though they weren’t deliberately playing footsie under the table in a secluded corner of one of London’s most famous and most exclusive French restaurants — a place that was usually fully booked up for several months in advance, although Draco had, miraculously, arranged for a table for two to be available for them tonight of all nights.

Harry had felt the burning desire to ask if he’d somehow used magic to persuade the maître d'hôtel but Draco’s cool glower had made him rethink and he’d swallowed his words instead. Draco’s look had told him everything he needed to know — ask and I will turn tonight into an unforgettable nightmare you won’t forget until you take your dying breath. No, getting on Draco Malfoy’s wrong side wasn’t something you wanted to do, at least not if you cared about your balls.

Suddenly realising that he’d yet to respond to Draco’s proposed toast and that he was waiting — albeit no longer as patient as two minutes ago, Harry hastily cleared his throat and spoke up.

“Yes, to us.”

They clinked glasses and each took a sip and just as Harry was about to set his glass down on the table, the sound of a very familiar voice drifted over to their table. It, of course, belonged to none other than Ronald Weasley, supposedly his best friend and honorary brother. He shot a questioning look at Draco, who shrugged and quirked an eyebrow at him — a silent question that screamed: _What the hell is going on, Potter?_

Harry wished he knew and a second and a profuse apology later, Ron dragged an empty chair over to their table, plonked himself down and resting his arms on the table, he crossed them in front of his chest.

“Harry, Malfoy,” he said.

He smiled at Harry. Draco only got a curt nod, then Ron unceremoniously grabbed the bottle of champagne and filled Harry’s empty water glass nearly to the brim. He took a large swig of the cool sparkling alcoholic beverage and looked back and forth between the two of them.

“Potter,” Draco hissed under his breath.

He pulled his leg away and his smile had all but disappeared. He was now glowering darkly and sourly and it appeared like he was seconds away from planning Ronald Weasley’s murder, or maybe, and the likelihood of that was quite possible, he’d already done so. Harry let out an exasperated sigh — he suddenly very much regretted excitedly telling Ron all about tonight’s dinner date with Draco.

He’d told him over an early lunch when he’d popped over to Diagon Alley to pick up a new set of specially tailored dress robes. Ron had eyed them suspiciously but he hadn’t asked about them and Harry hadn’t told him, knowing that if he did, Ron would put him in a Full-Body-Bind and abduct him to the Shetland Islands or some other remote place that would make it impossible for him to make it back to London in time for his afternoon engagement at the Ministry.

“Ron, what are you doing here?” Harry asked.

He tried to keep his voice calm though given the circumstances and the fact that Ron had, quite deliberately so, crashed his and Draco’s dinner, he was having a hard time successfully achieving just that.

“I’m joining you for dinner, I thought that much was obvious,” Ron replied and took another rather large sip of champagne.

“Weasel, piss off,” Draco snarled. “You’re ruining a perfectly good date.”

“Shut it, ferret.”

Ron responded without as much as looking into Draco’s general direction and Draco’s face turned crimson, though not with embarrassment but with rage. He slammed his champagne flute down on the table and glared icy daggers. His narrowed eyes resembled two small slits and Harry thought that if looks could kill Ron would have taken his last breath several seconds ago.

“Ron,” Harry beseeched. “Is this entirely necessary? You’re being a bit of a dick.”

“A bit?” Draco scoffed.

“Yes, Harry, you need a chaperone.”

“For fuck’s sake, Ron, you’re taking this a bit too far, don’t you think? I’m twenty-eight years old, I don’t need anyone looking over my shoulder, I can take bloody well care of myself.”

“Can you really? I’m just making sure that you don’t do anything stupid.”

Ron drank the rest of the champagne that remained in his glass and setting it down on the table he reached for one of the hors d'oeuvres, their table’s waiter had quietly served them about ten minutes before Ron had so rudely intruded on their special date. He chewed on it, once, twice, pulled a face and grabbing Harry’s napkin, he spat the half-eaten piece of sushi with a dusting of fresh caviar into the cotton cloth and made a retching noise of disgust.

“As always, an example of true grace and refined elegance.”

Draco’s mocking tone was blatantly obvious and Harry couldn’t quite stop himself from smirking but sobered up instantly when Ron reached for the champagne bottle and instead of pouring himself a second glass, he drank straight from the bottle.

“Ron, please, just go already, will you? I’m trying to enjoy a special evening with Draco, is that really too much to ask for?”

“Sorry, mate, no can do. You’re going to do something stupid; I just know it.”

“The only one presently doing anything stupid is you, Weasel, you’re embarrassing yourself. We can always pretend that we don’t know you.”

Harry sighed. He twisted his fingers into and around the edge of the tablecloth and looked at Draco, who merely shrugged — his expression said it all: _your friend, you deal with it._ Harry frowned; he couldn’t work out whether Draco was angry with him or thoroughly amused over the fact that Ron was making a complete arse out of himself in front of a crowd — then again, it wasn’t the first time that he’d done so and Harry doubted that it would be the last. When he and Hermione had gotten married, he’d made a complete fool of himself during his speech, much to the embarrassment of everyone in attendance, including Hermione, who had the patience of a saint, though Harry could not for the life of him understand why.

“Oh, please, Ronald, what stupid thing could I possibly do with Draco in a fully booked restaurant? I’m hardly going to bend him over the table and shag him six ways from Sunday.”

Draco flushed a little and coughed with mild embarrassment and Harry thought it better to swallow the remainder of what he’d been about to say — namely that while the idea of having his wicked way with Draco bend over a dinner table sounded immensely exciting the prospect of being charged with gross public indecency did not. He would, therefore, wait until they got to the men’s room and managed to lock themselves into one of the spacious stalls before thoroughly defiling Draco Malfoy.

Ron glared at him, took another sip of champagne, and burped. Draco pretended to retch and even Harry looked mildly repulsed.

“He’s going to propose!”

Harry frowned.

“Who is going to propose?”

“The ferret?”

“Propose what?”

“He’s going to ask you to marry him.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

Harry chuckled, amused, and caught Draco’s eye. He looked equally as entertained.

“Well, I must say I had no idea that Draco had planned this dinner with the intention of presenting me with a ring, thank you for clearing that up for me, Ron, you may leave now.”

“I shall be doing no such thing.”

“Weasel, I can assure you, if I’d at all been in the mood to propose to my boyfriend, I now no longer am. You most definitely ruined the evening for us, so thank you.”

Ron clapped his hands together, though it took him three attempts before he managed to successfully do so. If there was one thing that Ron was rubbish at, then it was holding his liquor. He was a complete lightweight and he knew it, though it didn’t stop him from trying to prove everyone otherwise — this had also been the reason why he’d managed to make such a fool out of himself at his own wedding and despite the fact that the incident had occurred a little over four years ago, Harry was still curious about how Hermione had retaliated. He, however, wasn’t brash enough to outright ask her that question.

“You’re welcome.”

Harry groaned. He was getting just a little annoyed with his best friend and briefly considered revoking their friendship — this had gone on for too long and Ron was taking it too far. Every single one of his and Draco’s embarrassing dates had been the result of Ron gate-crashing them in a pathetic attempt to stop their relationship from progressing. While it hadn’t worked, Ron apparently had no intention of giving up.

“Seriously, Ron, what exactly is your problem with Draco? You’ve had three years to get used to the idea of him and me, yet, seemingly nothing has changed.”

“Three centuries wouldn’t be enough for me to get used to you shagging a ferret.”

“You know, Ronald, in hindsight, I found my brief experience in the skin of a ferret quite enlightening and extremely insightful. Maybe you should have a go at being an actual Weasel for a while. I’d be more than happy to help you with the transformation.”

Harry laughed heartily and even though he’d known his best friend for nearly twenty years, he couldn’t help but picture the scene in his head — Draco drawing his wand, swishing it, and mumbling the incantation that would transform Ron into an adorable small furry pet. Apparently, and Harry wasn’t even ashamed to admit that, least of all to himself, Draco’s dark humour had long since rubbed off on him.

Instead of responding to Draco’s obvious goading, Ron merely glowered at him, huffed, and picking the champagne bottle up again, he took a large swig, then leant back in his chair and crossed his arms in front of his chest. He looked rather pleased with himself and Harry sighed. He didn’t think now was the place and time to make a confession but he reckoned it was the only way to salvage the rest of the evening. He subtly moved his hand and the Auror-issued leather wrist wand holster released his wand. It slipped into his hand and closing his fingers around the tip of it, Harry wordlessly cast a silencing charm around their table.

Draco smiled knowingly and gently placing his wand on the table, Harry made sure that the tip of it faced Ron. He placed his hand on the handle and cleared his throat.

“Alright, I’m going to tell you something Ron, something you’re not going to like but if you make a scene, trust me I have no problem using magic on you. Even in this place. It’ll pain me to call the Obliviators to work overtime on the one evening I’m meant to celebrate a special occasion with Draco but since you already so very spectacularly ruined our date, I might as well tell you the truth before anyone else finds out.”

Ron frowned. He glanced at Harry’s wand and shifted rather uncomfortably in his chair.

“I will use it, Ron, don’t for a moment believe that I won’t. I’ve strictly forbidden Draco from hexing you and as much as I know he wants to, he loves me and he’s not going to go against my wishes, so if you as much as raise your voice once I’m done talking you’ll leave this place bound in ropes and I’ll have you sober up in the DMLE holding cells.”

Ron squeaked and when Draco chuckled gleefully, Harry shot him a warning look. He sobered up instantly and straightening his dinner jacket, he gave a small nod of approval and swishing his hand he wandlessly revealed the silver platinum wedding band that adorned the third finger of his left hand. The spell also revealed a matching ring on Harry’s left hand and thrusting his hand into Ron’s face, Harry drew his attention to it.

“You’ll probably want to kill me for this but Draco and I got married at the Ministry this afternoon. Minister Shacklebolt officiated the ceremony.”

Ron’s jaw dropped to the floor and he stared with his eyes wide open.

“You’re— you’re— you’re—”

“He’s not kidding you. I proposed last week, you blooming dunderhead. I should like to think I’m a little smarter than you.”

Harry wanted to reprimand Draco for his sass but for some reason, he couldn’t fault his husband for his reaction. Throughout the last three years Draco had shown a remarkable restraint when it came to having to listen to Ron’s tasteless remarks and apart from a few scathing insults, he’d taken whatever Ron had thrown at him in his stride and held his head up high — and even before they’d started dating when Harry had pursued Draco with the intention of finally becoming friends and making up for lost time, Draco had mostly kept his cool. He’d lost it once and had fired a rather nasty stinging hex at Ron’s arse but that had been all.

After a long moment of silence, Ron eventually let out a thoroughly exasperated sigh. He threw his hands up in the air, then clasped them together in his lap and sighed again. His next words, more than a little surprised Harry and he only barely managed to stop himself from gaping at his best friend.

“Harry, ever since you and Malfoy, well, ever since you started going out together, you’ve been much happier. I mean, I still don’t get it, because, well, Malfoy, and I’m sorry for being such a complete gobshite but I guess I just wanted you to be sure and not do stuff with him on a whim.”

Harry rubbed his index finger thoughtfully over the hilt of his wand, smiled, then looked at Draco for a full two minutes before finally turning his head to look at Ron.

“I guess you didn’t quite manage that, you’ve really been an arse.”

“Yeah,” Ron nodded. “Apparently not enough of an arse though to come between true love, not that it would be possible anyway. Look, I’m sorry, all right. I think I should probably be mad because you bloody got engaged _and_ married without telling me anything, but hey, look, whatever, can we have a do-over?”

Harry shrugged. “Ask him?”

He motioned towards his husband and felt an odd thrilling sensation surge down his spine at the realisation that Draco was no longer his boyfriend but his husband. He watched quietly as Ron turned his head and looked at Draco.

“What do you say, Malfoy?”

Draco smirked.

“You’re my husband’s best friend, I think it’s safe to assume that I’m going to have to see a lot more of your scrawny arse in the future. I reckon a cease-fire would be in both our best interests.”

With that, he offered Ron his hand and this time Harry gaped. The fact that his husband and his best friend, after feuding for the better part of nearly two decades, had just declared a truce and were shaking hands on top of that, made him wish that he had a camera to capture the moment, though he had no doubt that he would remember it forever.

Once Draco and Ron finished shaking hands, Draco subtly raised his hand and called one of the waiters over. Harry hastily dropped the silencing charm, he’d cast around the table, and listened, mutely, as his husband ordered a fresh bottle of champagne and another plate setting. The waiter frowned and went to inform then that this was a table for two but Draco appeased him with a fifty-pound note.

“Right, a bit of an unconventional wedding dinner but when has everything about you ever been conventional, Potter, huh?” he smirked.

Harry rolled his eyes.

“I love you too, Malfoy.”


End file.
